


Soup

by rangerhitomi



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: M/M, Nursing, silly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shark sprains his ankle but he doesn't want to go to the hospital. So he goes to Yuma's house instead and Yuma tries to take care of him... badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soup

Shark had done a lot of stupid and reckless things to keep Yuma safe, but they had all been of his own volition. He had  _consciously_  opted to fight Kaito, throw the semifinal duel, escape from the hospital, run into a falling building, get into a fight with armed robots, duel despite a serious stomach wound, take a falling slab of concrete in Yuma’s place, and boldly attempt to save Yuma from falling down a chasm (admittedly, that one ended up less heroic than he had envisioned it but it worked out in the end). He did those things  _knowing_  they were, well, stupid and reckless, which was not his intention when he tried to save Yuma from falling backward into a fountain because Yuma  _couldn’t watch where he was going_  and ended up falling in it instead, hitting his head and twisting his ankle in the process.

At first, he refused to let Yuma touch him, despite the younger boy’s frantic insistence that he be allowed to help Shark sit up. Shark was more embarrassed than he could remember being, because the park was full of people who were now watching him and whispering to each other. But then he realized that his head was killing him, his vision was hazy, he probably had a concussion, and every time he tried to sit up, his hands slid on the tile beneath him. Finally, he realized that the only thing for him to do was to let Yuma help him to his feet.

Yuma wrapped Shark’s arm around his shoulders and held Shark firmly by the waist. After frantic hissing that  _I can’t be seen being held like this in public let alone by you_ , Shark reluctantly acquiesced and let Yuma guide him, hobbling despite himself on his aching ankle.  _  
_

“Where are we going?” Shark said through gritted teeth as they walked along an unpleasantly familiar sidewalk toward an unpleasantly familiar building.

“The hospital." 

” _No_.“ His voice came out much less firmly and much more whiny than he wanted.

Yuma raised an eyebrow. "Shark, you have a concussion, probably, and your ankle needs to be iced-”

“ _I’m not going to the hospital_ ,” Shark hissed. 

Yuma huffed, paused, and turned to face his friend. “ _Why_.”

What did he want him to say? I’m tired of going to the hospital? I was just there three weeks ago? The nurses have a bet going to see how long I can go without ending up there again?

“Take me to your house. I’ll take a nap on the couch and take some aspirin and I’ll be fine.”

Yuma let out a dramatic sigh before tightening his grip on Shark’s waist.

* * *

 

Obomi greeted them at the door like the faithful O-Bot she was.

“Hello dumbass. Hello toothless marine creature.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yuma pushed his way into the house, dragging Shark with him. “Is Gran home? Or Sis?”

Obomi scooted off, brandishing a duster as she went. “No, dumbass.”

Yuma rolled his eyes as he led Shark to the couch and helped him get comfortable on the throw pillows. Shark made a strangled noise to mask his whimper of pain as Yuma gently lifted his leg, propping it on another pillow. “I’m going to get you some painkillers. Be right back.”

Shark sighed and leaned back on the pillows. God, but did his head hurt. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to sit up again for a while.  He glared at his ankle but then realized that doing so was really pointless and unproductive, so he went back to glaring at the ceiling until Yuma returned with a glass of water, a bottle of pills, and a paper towel-wrapped bundle. 

“Take these-” Yuma shoved the pills in Shark’s mouth. Shark made a face as the bitter pills began dissolving on his tongue and almost choked as Yuma placed the glass to his lips and forced him to drink. When the pills were swallowed, Shark tried to sit back, but Yuma grabbed the back of his head. “No, drink all of this.”

“I don’t want-” Shark’s protest turned into a splutter as Yuma forced the water into his mouth anyway, with probably a quarter of it spilling over Shark’s chin and onto his chest. Shark coughed lightly and looked up in time to see a small smile on Yuma’s face. Was he actually  _enjoying_ this?

Maybe he should have gone to the hospital after all.

When the glass was finally empty, Yuma ignored Shark’s mumbled oaths and knelt by Shark’s foot, working quickly to remove Shark’s damp sock and replacing it with the paper towel bundle. 

Shark hissed again and bit his lip. It was  _freezing_. Now that he thought about it, his still-wet clothing was making his whole body shiver.

“To help with the swelling,” Yuma explained before disappearing into the kitchen again. 

With a heavy sigh, Shark glanced over at the coffee table where the television remote sat. He reached across toward it, but he couldn’t reach. Shifting his body slightly, and careful not to move his ankle, he scooted on the couch, straining as he tried again. It was still too far away. With one hand lifting his upper body from the couch, he leaned over, body hanging halfway off the couch as his fingers finally brushed the remote. With one final effort, he managed to slide it close enough to him - and promptly slipped off the couch, nearly hitting his head on the coffee table on his way down.

His string of curses did not go unnoticed by Yuma, who walked back into the living room with a steaming bowl of some kind of soup. He took one look at his friend, left leg still hanging on the couch with the ice pack in place while the rest of him huddled on the floor between the couch and the table. His lips twitched in what Shark could have sworn was a poorly concealed smile, and set the bowl down before kneeling next to him. 

“There’s nothing on at this time of day anyway,” he informed Shark as he slid one arm under Shark’s knee and the other under his back.

“What are-” His question was answered as Yuma gently lifted him back on the couch and positioned his body back among the pillows in a half-sitting position. He leaned over and took the ice pack from Shark’s ankle, placing it on the side of his head where he had hit it on the bottom of the fountain. 

“Hold it there for a few minutes,” Yuma instructed, and Shark dazedly obeyed. “Now you need to eat something, so I warmed up some soup. Open your mouth.”

_Is he serious?_  “You idiot, I can feed my-" 

His protest was cut off as Yuma shoved the spoonful of soup into his mouth. Shark choked, sending a chunk of what tasted like potato dribbling down his chin. With a pleasant smile, Yuma pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at Shark’s face with it. Shark’s face turned red.

"You’re supposed to  _swallow_  it, Shark." 

Why the hell was he so happy?

And what was that awful taste in his mouth?

"Yuma, what kind of soup is that?”

“Potato.”

“Does it… it doesn’t have onions in it, does it?”

“Yes.”

Shark shuddered and made a face. “No more.”

“You should eat something,” Yuma repeated, holding the spoon aloft. 

“I hate onions.”

“That’s just the concussion talking.”

“I am going to kill you-” Shark tried to sit up, but failed miserably against a wave of dizziness. Yuma gently pushed him back against the pillows and leaned closer, the sadistic smile becoming more prominent. 

“Onions are good. Look.” Yuma placed the spoonful of soup in his own mouth and made disgustingly over-exaggerated faces of delight. 

“Quit doing that or I’m going to vomit on you.”

Yuma grinned again and leaned his face close. “Don’t you want some yummy onions, Shark?”

Shark’s hand tightened on the ice pack still pressed to his head. What was he-

His face blanched as Yuma’s lips touched his. 

“Yuma, what…” His voice came out hoarse.

“I’m gonna show you that onions aren’t that bad.”

He could practically taste them on Yuma’s lips, and it didn’t sit well with him, but at the same time, his body was numb and tingly and he wasn’t sure if it was the concussion or some unexplained burst of attraction for the younger boy. 

“If you have any soup in your mouth and regurgitate it in mine, I am going to give you a concussion of your own,” he managed to say before Yuma smirked and kissed him harder.

Shark’s clothes suddenly didn’t feel as cold and the onions didn’t taste that bad.


End file.
